Ephemera
by Linnett
Summary: A collection of oneshots and drabbles concerning the lives of Todd and Lovett between, and sometimes including, the limb-hacking. -Sweeney Todd revival, in no particular order-
1. Perfection

Title: Perfection

Summary: Todd and Lovett bathe.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Not mine, no copyright infringement intended or anything dreadful like that.

The blood is thicker than the water they're in, bits washing off languidly and the rest peeling into little pink specks that float around them, blinking in the candlelight, flaky hearts beating against their skin. Mockery is flattery, somewhere.

They don't move. Not an half an inch, not half a breath, because to move would be to shatter the world they've created.

To make this perfect, he will have to make her scream, wipe that lackadaisical smile from those ruby-dried lips, make her writhe, make her drown into that swimming blood, suffocate her on her own insignificant heart, lose control of everything to him.

They're bound by a vicious struggle to control their desire, a delightfully impossible process that abandons them somewhere between uncontrollable laughter and little silver scars that don't show up for days.

His own little bloody aflatoon, lust is not enough to make him love her, but her screams are. With her, it will always be too much or not enough, the exception being when they find this - an unshakable balance that winds itself around their minds with bitter elegance. They waltz.

He does not like to think on her. She does not want to think on him.

They smile.

Silence remains unspoken.


	2. Escape

Title: Escape

Song Prompt: You'll Never Get Away From Me 2008 Gypsy revival

Rated: Heavy T (very nondescript sex)

Summary: Lovett contemplates.

That man will be the death of her, whether with those bloody little razors or with his own two hands crushing her windpipe, squeezing her flesh until it bursts.

It's like this that she finds herself - that is, one hand squeezing her thigh hard against the counter, his teeth against her neck, fingers curled hard around the razor at her jaw.

She forces him to look up at her, clawing at his head until she can see him, stare into those carnivorous eyes of his, and revel for one glorious second in her victory.

"You'll never get away from me, Mr. Todd," She whispers in his ear, fingernails scraping deliciously against his back.

He curses, whether because of her statement or the pain or something else entirely she doesn't know; what she does know, though, is that he's doing something to her that's even got to be obscene to those harlots down the street and _oh_ Mr. Todd -

A bit later, laying strewn across the floor and staring up at his sleeping eyes, she thinks.

She may never get away from him, either.


	3. Talk

Rating: T?  
Title: Talk  
Note: Review? I just realized that I haven't asked before, but I am, in fact, a review whore.  
Summary: Lovett in a bar with a stranger and questionable intentions.

"I mean, it's not that I'm daft," She flicked a bit of ash into her drink. It sizzled. "And it's not that I'm particularly smart, either. But I do know, if anything, that when you go to a nasty part of town and start guzzling gin, you're in for it."

"In for it."

"Sure." She paused for a minute to reach over the bar and pour herself a drink, balancing precariously on her wedge shoes on one of the poles reaching across her stool, as the bartender was absent. "Especially when we're talking about a man that wanted up your skirt for a year and a half."

"A year and a half, really?"

She shrugged. "Maybe longer. You never know with that type."

"What type?"

"The rat-from-the-sewer type." Her half-focused eyes followed the stub of the cigarette she pointed at him, "Now I'm not saying that I'm not from the sewer. I'm just not a rat from the sewer."

"What are you, then?"

She smiled a crooked, lazy smile. "I'm a mouse, love."

"And what do you think I am?"

"You?" Her half-smile quirked higher, and she lit another cigarette. "You're one of those little writers who thinks the world of everything and nothing of themselves. You're a bird."

"A bird?"

She nodded, half-lidded eyes focusing on her tequila. "Want to fly away but don't know where to. Only'll lead to heartache, love."

"You should know?"

She chuckled low in her throat, "I've lived long enough _to_ know." She then reached over the bar to pour herself another drink. "So, dearie, how much will you pay?"

"Just keep talking."

"You don't want nothing else? You've got me all night, love." She took a drag and swallowed half the smoke with her drink, "And a nice meat pie in the morning, if you like."

"Five pounds if you talk until dawn."

After a moment of drunken consideration, she kicked her legs up onto his barstool and reclined back half onto the bar, closing her eyes. "Catching alley cats to put into pies is not half as easy as it looks."


End file.
